Mental Block
by Farmer Jen
Summary: Detective A. Line was never the best detective in the city, but when a puzzling situation stumps everyone else, will he be able to fill in the gaps? Rated PG for some slightly crude humor and shameless puns.
1. Draw A Line

**This was meant to be a one-shot, but it was taking too long, so I broke it up. Here you go: Chapter one.**

It was a dark night when she came. The shutters on my window were parted slightly, showing the flashes of lightning outside. I hate lightning. Not because it scares me, of course. That's not it at all. But each flash of lightning causes a power surge, which makes my desk lamp flicker, casting eerie shadows on the walls before pitching the room into blackness. No, I'm not afraid of lightning- I'm afraid of the dark.

Who am I? Some call me Fred. I'm not sure why they do; I guess they just like the name Fred, and don't know anyone who goes by that name. Those are the kind of people that need to get out more. Others call me Line- A. Line. Those who know my first name are sworn to secrecy, lest they want to die a slow, painful death. Needless to say, I keep information about my name far from masochists.

The phone rang at about quarter to eleven. I shook my head slowly, reaching for the phone. The poor, desperate soul. Very few called the office past its closing hours, and those that did were usually in dire need of help. I could see it now: a young blonde girl, a tear dripping down her cheek, was on the other end. Her father had been murdered, and she didn't know who else to turn to. She'd come to the office that night, and talk with me. Who knew where that would lead? I tried not to fraternize with my clients, but she might really need the moral support.

My mouth set in a grim line, I picked up the phone. "Good evening. A. Line, Private I. speaking."

"Alvin!" cried a high-pitched wailing voice on the other end of the phone. "Where've you been? I thought we were gonna have dinner tonight!"

I slapped my hand to my forehead. I didn't need this tonight. "Mother, please," I replied. "You knew I had a lot of paperwork tonight. And please, call me 'Line'...someone may be tapping my phone."

"Paperwork, Shmaperwork," replied the voice, thick with its usual Brooklyn accent. "You were probably playing with those trains again."

I nudged the train set further under the desk with the corner of my foot. "I have no idea what you're referring to."

Just then, a knock sounded on my door. "I have to go, Mother," I said in a low voice, hanging up before she could protest. Then, clearing my throat, I called, "It's open."

Some sounds of turning the handle were heard. "No it's not!" called a voice from outside. A feminine voice, with a touch of an English accent. Could it be my young blonde? I got up and unlocked the door for her.

She shuffled in, drenched from the rain. She wasn't a blonde, but a light blue, and had angles in all the right places. There wasn't a mark on any of her four lovely sections, and I knew then that I had found heaven.

"Have a seat, ma'am?" I asked, gesturing toward an old chair in the corner. It was torn in places, with both springs and stuffing poking out, but I got it at a thrift store for fifty cents, and it was too hard for me to let it go.

She shook her head, sending a couple of little water droplets spraying across the room. "There's no time," she replied. "I have a puzzle that only you can solve, and I need you now."

I raised my eyebrows and gave her a smug smile. I didn't even know her name, and she wanted me already! I decided to play hard-to-get. "Ma'am, I'm afraid you're going much too fast for me."

"You don't understand!" she cried, grasping my shirt collar and pulling me toward her. I marveled at how forward she was. It was hard to find aggressive women anywhere these days. "I'm at a level where I need to go _fast_! Everything's filling up, and it's more than I can handle! You're the only one that can keep me together, and I need you right now!"

Uh oh. Chicks with baggage were never good, especially not for a one-nighter. I gently removed her fingers from my collar. "Listen, sweetie, I think you have the wrong guy."

She backed up, a hurt look in her eye. "You don't understand," she repeated, sinking down in agony onto the broken chair. She shot back up, a spring having poked her in an uncomfortable place, and faced me again. "I've tried all the other guys," she continued. "Then I heard about you. You're the only one who can fill this void."

What? She'd tried other guys? This must be safer than I thought, then. They must not have been able to satisfy her, so she talked to some other girls, and heard about me. That explained it. "I guess you heard I was...pretty reliable, huh?"

She chuckled somewhat cynically. "On the contrary," she said. "I heard that you've never been there when you were needed the most." My face fell. "However," she continued, noting my pained look, "I've also heard that if someone can get a hold of you, you can fix the whole situation."

I mentally chewed on that for a moment. I did tend to make myself scarce after...meeting with my clients. I tried not to talk to most of them once they'd...thanked me for my detective services, especially not to those with burly husbands. That last bit sent up a red flag. "Are you married?" I asked her.

She raised an eyebrow. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well," I said, "many of my clients' husbands have approached me after I...helped them with personal problems, and none of those husbands were too happy about it."

She looked back toward my door. "A. Line, Private Investigator," she read. "Ok, good. I thought I was in the wrong office or something."

I smiled. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, you're making yourself sound like some kind of man whore. I just need you to solve my case."

My smile was gone. "But...I thought you needed me to fill your void...and keep you together!"

She gagged, a little melodramatically. "You're disgusting!" she said. "What kind of sick mind would come up with something like that? I want you to fill the void in my puzzle, not in me!"

I laughed nervously. "That's what I meant, of course. It just came out wrong, that's all. Now, what problem did you need me to solve?"

She sighed. I noticed that there were slight bags under her eyes, and thought that she must've been all over the place looking for help. That filled me with pride until I realized that she'd tried everyone else's help first. Then I just felt like a square. "Well," she said, "it's kind of a puzzling situation. I was assigned a limited amount of time to figure it out, and I'm quickly approaching my limit. I have all the pieces but one, and you seem to be my missing piece."

"Me?" I asked. "Surely you're joking."

"I'm not joking," she replied. "And don't call me Shirley."


	2. A missing piece

An hour later, I found myself sitting on a train next to the lovely blue. Her name was, in fact, Shirley- Shirley Place. She disliked it when people she wasn't close to called her by her first name, and apparently she didn't get too close to men who tried to sell themselves to her. I can't imagine why she wouldn't like that kind of man. Women really are a mystery. But you know what? This is _my _narrative, and I'll call her whatever I like. How do you like them apples, Shirley?

Shirley and I were staring out the window at the passing buildings. Well, we were trying to, anyway. At the moment, the smog was either particularly bad or we were passing through a tunnel.

"Miss Place," I began, "exactly where are going again?"

She turned to me in irritation. "We're going to find the others," she said. "We'll get them together, and then we can solve the puzzle. How many times do I have to tell you this, Line?"

"I'm sorry," I replied. "I really don't mean to annoy you like this." I let a few moments pass before continuing. "So what's first on our agenda?"

"Get Bent," she replied.

I recoiled in shock. Shirley may have been a bit irritable, but that was no reason to insult me! "Excuse me?"

"We're going to get Bent," she replied. "He's closest to us."

"Oh," I said. I really felt like a square now. I started to feel a bit nervous. Who was Bent? Was he Shirley's boyfriend? Was he big, burly, and jealous? Was he an escaped serial killer? The closest thing to one of those I'd met was Toucan Sam, and he was just a cereal killer. "What's Bent like?" I asked, hoping to sound nonchalant.

"Bent is...well, he's bent," she replied. She had the loveliest accent. "I hope you're ok with that."

Ok with what? Was he famous or something? Was he the most commonly plastered face on America's Most Wanted? I was really worried now. "Oh, of course," I said. "I'm perfectly fine with it. I wish I were bent myself."

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "Quite," she replied. "Just watch your back."

I shut up.

We arrived in an upbeat area of the city where the sun managed to shine despite the terrible pollution. Bent was apparently waiting for us near the local General Store, so Shirley and I headed toward it. I found myself growing more anxious with each step. Now, I'm not the type to run from a hairy situation, but if the barber is chasing me with his scissors, I can't really help myself. I really didn't want to meet this Bent guy, so I tried to linger at the train station a little bit. Shirley didn't like that, and confronted me about it.

"Why all the dilly-dally, Line?" she snapped. "We have to meet up with Bent."

"What's with the temper, Miss Place?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I lose it easily. Just hurry up, all right?"

I followed her in silence after that. A temper was a bad thing to Miss Place.

We eventually got to the General Store, and I looked around nervously for the beefy bodybuilder that was sure to be Bent. There wasn't anyone around that fit my mental description, so I started to relax. Maybe he wasn't coming after all.

"Bent!" cried Shirley, turning around with her arms open.

I froze. He was right behind me. There was no running now. He'd grab my neck and break it faster than a hymen on Prom Night. I turned slowly, ready to face my doom.

To my surprise, Shirley was hugging an ordinary guy. He looked somewhat like Shirley herself, but he wasn't so blue. In fact, he was more Green than anything else. You can always tell a Nader supporter when you see one.

"Shirley, darling!" he said. Bent sounded like anyone else. He was very normal. In fact, he was too normal. I looked around quickly, trying to catch a glimpse of the Mafia members that must be lurking around the corner somewhere.

"This is Detective A. Line," said Shirley, gesturing toward me. Bent reached out and shook my hand. "Line, this is Bent. You two can get to know each other for a moment. I need to go inside the store," she said.

"What do you need?" I asked. I didn't want to be left alone with this guy. There was something queer about him, and I didn't want to find out what it was.

"Food," replied Shirley.

"That's a bit vague," I said.

"Well, it _is_ a General Store." With that, she walked away, leaving me alone with Bent.

Bent shuffled his feet. Was this a signal? Were the Mafia men going to shoot me now? I glanced from side to side, looking for movement.

"So," said Bent, "are you interested in Shirley?"

That was a loaded question, I was sure. "Not romantically, no," I lied.

Bent smiled shyly. Uh-oh. "Are you straight?" he asked.

Though my paranoia said that this was probably some secret Mafia code for "would you like to be skewered with a giant toothpick," my macho attitude took over. I was nothing if not a womanizer. "Of course I'm straight! I'm A. Line!"

Bent's smile faded. "Oh," he said. He went back to shuffling his feet. I didn't know what was wrong with the man, but he sure had an odd attitude. Just as I felt as if I should say something consoling, Shirley came back, holding a plastic bag reading, "Thanks."

"What'd you get?" I asked.

"Stuff," she replied. I didn't inquire further. She turned to Bent. "Are you ill, dear?" she asked. She glanced at me. "Did Line say something you didn't like?"

Bent smiled at her. "No, it's alright," he replied. "What's on our agenda?"

Shirley looked around in her purse, pulling out the to-do list. "It's time to find Bob," she said.

Bent groaned. "We have to talk to that square?" he asked. Shirley nodded. "Fine. But if he starts talking about my area again, I'm out."

Shirley laughed. "Don't worry, poppet," she said. "We'll find better men to talk about your area." They both laughed, and I couldn't help but feel as though I'd missed out on a joke.


End file.
